at the theatre since the world began? What have we ever done to offend
you, Mr. BEZZLE, that you should behave thus?"

"Sir," said Mr. BEZZLE, "I once was young, but now am old. I see the
error of my editorial ways, and have resolved to mend 'em. My columns
are _not_ to be bought, sir. My dramatic critic is not to be suborned. I
am determined to tear down the flaunting lie with which THESPIS has so
long concealed her blushless face, and to show the deluded public the
cothurnus bespattered, and the sock and buskin draggled in the mire.
Perish my theatrical advertising columns when I cease to tell the truth!
There is the sum twice told: I pays my money and I takes my choice.
Never mind the change." And with these words Mr. BEZZLE stalked off, his
face crimson with a rush of aesthetics to the head.

From the theatre Mr. BEZZLE went to the house of a celebrated publisher,
who received him with open arms, and conducted him to a counter where
all the newest and most expensive books were displayed. "We are just
settled in our new quarters," explained the publisher, "and any little
thing you might say about us in your valuable paper would be--I don't
_ask_ it, you know--but it would be--upon my word it would. See here,
Mr. BEZZLE, I want you to pick out from this counter just what you want,
and--"

"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. BEZZLE, leaping at the publisher with eyes that
fairly blazed with the radiance of rectitude, "who do you take me for?"
If Mr. BEZZLE had been less violent he would probably have said, "_Whom_
do you take me for," and so have spared himself the ignominy of sinking
to the ungrammatical level of the Common Herd. But the fact is, his
proud spirit was chafed and fretted at the spectacle of sordid
self-seeking that everywhere met his gaze, and excess of sentiment made